


Masquerade

by MerKat



Series: MerKat RPs [27]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Costume Parties & Masquerades, First Kiss, First Time, Frotting, Kissing, M/M, Masks, Protective Mycroft, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2014-11-01
Packaged: 2018-02-23 12:55:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2548262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MerKat/pseuds/MerKat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Masked faces only seem to reveal and dissuade inhibitions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Masquerade

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alexisriversong](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexisriversong/gifts).



> This was a request from [alexisriversong](http://alexisriversong.tumblr.com/): "could you write a little mystrade (possibly explicit) about them meeting at a halloween ball all dressed up and not recognizing each other and talking and falling in love and discovering who they are and wanting each other even more? I could write a fic for you in exchange (no money sorry) I love your works and this prompt have been in my mind for a while but I can't write it and be satisfied with it. You could post it on AO3 (same url as here) if you want you could rp it with Mer (love your rp)" We hope you like it dear.
> 
> A note to all our readers: There will be no MerKat RPs until the first week of December as Kat will be [NaNo-ing](http://nanowrimo.org/) the entirety of this month.

Greg felt absolutely ridiculous. The day after he’d cracked a massive case and been promoted to Detective Inspector, the Chief Superintendent had dropped a large box on his desk before flinging an envelope at him that looked and felt like it cost more than his television. It had been an invitation to a Mayor’s Ball. Of all things. He didn’t even know those existed outside the telly. But it had been unavoidable. Worse, it was held on Halloween, and the large box had revealed a costume, one that he’d had no choice but to don before leaving his miserable flat.

He didn’t feel much better when the car that had, apparently, been hired to ferry him back and forth from the party, dropped him off in front of a mansion. The large, double front doors were wide open, spilling light and laughter and music onto the front porch, for lack of a better word, and down the steps. The only thing that gave him courage was the fact that he was wearing a mask that covered his eyes, and the only thing that gave him relief when he walked in was the fact that everyone was wearing a mask too.

Mycroft Holmes watched the revelers. Parties weren’t his usual thing, but sometimes they were unavoidable. A new man walked in and headed straight to the bar, clearly uncomfortable. His mask resembled a fox, the rest of his clothes mostly silver. Mycroft himself was playing a peacock. And he was fairly certain he knew whose life he was going to make miserable for giving him that one.

The stranger took a glass of punch and sipped it, looking around. Obviously he’d never been to one of these before and wasn’t quite sure what he was supposed to be doing. Excellent. Mycroft walked over to get his own glass. "Evening."

Greg startled at the voice and looked up, finding a man standing just in front of him, clearly speaking to him. The man’s mask was blue, with a fan of peacock feathers rising from the top and sides, obscuring the top and sides of his head. His shirt was blue as well, and his trousers appeared to be made of the sheerest fabrics that shimmered green and blue and purple.

"Hello," he replied cautiously.

"There is no need to be nervous. It’s a night for gaiety and revelry. May I show you around?" Mycroft offered his arm. Something about the warm brown eyes he could see through the mask intrigued him.

For a long moment, Greg contemplated the offering as he took a slow sip of the scotch he’d ordered. He and Sheila had signed the divorce papers months ago, but he hadn’t had the time, or the energy, to devote to finding a new partner. Not to mention that he hadn’t fooled around with another man since his uni days... What the hell. At the very least, he would have one night for some fun and relaxation and hopefully some very good sex. He could let the weight of his job and his failures fall away from his shoulders for one night, because they would be there again when he woke up tomorrow.

"You certainly may," he replied, only a bit coy, as he settled his free hand into the crook of the peacock’s elbow.

_Cheeky._ Mycroft found he liked that. He swept the man along, showing him a few nooks and crannies and artworks of the house. They chatted as they walked and Mycroft was relieved to find he was intelligent and clever, but not showy. And by his reactions to the art he had good taste and wasn't afraid to give his opinion. They both avoided talking too much about themselves, respecting the obvious anonymity of the party. Mycroft was glad the man had observed and followed the lead around him. Mycroft let his hand brush his and finally, he took him out to the gardens. It really was a beautiful night as he took the stranger’s hand. This was dangerous, he knew. A frisson of excitement went up his spine. 

The man masquerading as a peacock had absolutely blown Greg away. He’d never really realised how attracted he was to intelligence, but the slow burn of arousal in his veins and in his cock was proof enough. He was glad for their departure of the manse into the cool night air, somewhere clear where he could catch his breath and calm his heart. There was still music in the air, and though it was a bit distant, the rhythm was easy enough, and before he knew it, Greg was sweeping the other man into a waltz.

Mycroft was surprised, but fell easily into his arms. The fox had some grace and was clearly used to leading. He found himself wondering about his day job... but that was too personal for a night of romance. At least he was certain the man was just as attracted to him, judging by the length stirring against his hip when he pulled him close as the song ended. Mycroft looked at his eyes, hoping for a kiss, at least. 

The masque made the blue eyes behind them that much brighter, and when his dancing partner didn’t flinch away from his unbidden erection, Greg couldn’t help himself. He swooped in, pressing their lips together as he tugged the body in his arms even closer against him. He had been a little concerned that this obviously reserved man may not reciprocate, but next thing he knew, he was being backed into a massive flower pot and kissed with more vigor than he’d expected.

It had been a very long time since Mycroft had allowed himself pleasure like this. The other man kissed him back, hands going up his sides. Mycroft wanted to be taken, wanted to give up his tight control, if only for a few minutes. It was one night, not as if he'd see this man again. He relaxed into the other man's grip. 

"Are there spare rooms here we can use, or should we catch a cab, my vibrant friend?" Greg managed to gasp between kisses. The fantastic blue shirt of his partner was not as sturdy as it looked, and it seemed to be layered over the trousers rather than tucked into them. A bit greedily, his hands dove in. Instantly, his calloused fingers met soft skin and they paused, feeling a bit like he might harm the other man who was a bit more delicate beneath his clothes than his demeanor led Greg to believe.

Mycroft leaned into the other man’s touch, almost desiring bruises, or at least some mark that would last longer than a night. "Touch me, please," he breathed against pliant lips. "And I have nothing to ease the way, so departure would probably be best."

Greg kissed down the soft neck, nipping along his path as he grinned wickedly. The man against him writhed more and more furiously the closer he got to the curve of neck and shoulder. Without warning, he hollowed his cheeks and sucked hard, pulling blood to the surface of pale flesh. There was a sharp cry by his ear as fingers grasped almost desperately at his shoulders and he pulled away with a soft lick to the blossoming mark.

"You might have to pick, gorgeous," he murmured, reaching a hand down to cup an erection through trousers softer than they looked. "I’m not sure I can touch you _and_ get us into a cab at the same time."

Reluctantly, Mycroft pulled away, hot and flushed. He took the stranger's hand and pulled him towards the front of the mansion, furiously typing on his mobile with the other. _Gorgeous. Vibrant._ Those were not words ever applied to him. Even if it was simple flattery, tonight he would accept it. 

By the time they reached the kerb, the car was waiting. He got the door and nearly stuffed the other man inside. "We should go to yours," he said, squeezing his knee. 

"No problem," Greg replied. He had to get up at a truly unreasonable hour as it was, so he would already be gone when the stranger woke up. And since he had nothing in his home worth stealing, he wasn’t really worried about leaving the man alone in his flat. There wouldn’t have to be any of that awkward lingering or conversation in the morning. He rapped on the partition and rattled of his address into the opening. As soon as it closed, he was turning around, tugging the other man onto the spacious floor between the two opposing seat benches and straddling his waist.

"This car looks a bit top-secret. How filthy do you reckon we can get in here and no one on the outside the wiser?" he asked, grin all teeth.

Mycroft smiled up at him, his grin closed mouth but no less hungry. "How far do you wish to go?" he asked, squeezing the stranger’s hips. The already dark eyes went even darker, and the fox mask made them look feral. It was doing things that, again, Mycroft hadn’t felt in a very long time. Now he was glad he’d attended this party, ridiculous peacock and all.

Greg opened his mouth to reply as his hand dug into his pocket, and then snapped shut when he remembered why he was coming up empty. Unable to help it, he let out an annoyed groan and dropped his head to the peacock's shoulder. Feeling his erection wilt a bit, he stretched out long over the man laid out so prettily below him and knocked on the window.

"A Tesco first!" he shouted through the glass. Greg could feel his face heating up as he sat back on his heels, propping one hand on his hip as the other scrubbed self-consciously through his hair. "I just realised the only thing I have at home is lube. Sorry..." He trailed off, not sure if this would be grounds for dismissal or not. He hadn't been in the game for over a decade and he'd forgotten how awkward first times could get, especially if you were any less than 100% prepared.

Mycroft picked up his hand and kissed it. "Caution is no bad thing." He shifted and sat up, opening the glass and giving a terse order before smiling at the fox. "Robert will run in and get supplies for us."

"Oh good," Greg replied with a relieved grin as he crawled forward on his hands and knees and straddled the peacock’s lap. "Then I won’t have to stop doing this then." Even as he spoke, he was swooping down to press their lips together again, content to take it slow for the moment. The other man let out a breathy moan into his mouth as their tongues slid together, slow and sweet. His own erection felt hot and heavy, but not urgent, and he relaxed into the willing body below him. A smooth roll of his hips gave evidence that the other man was just as aroused by a firm erection sliding smoothly against his arse. 

Moaning softly, Mycroft reached up and ran a hand through the man’s hair. He had never been snogged so thoroughly. Losing himself in the bliss he didn't even realize they'd arrived until Robert knocked on the glass. 

"Perhaps we should head indoors and not give my driver a show," panted Mycroft.

"A show? Hell, he can join if he likes," Greg cheeked. The peacock’s cheeks, where they were exposed below the line of the mask, flamed and Greg burst into laughter. "I’m sorry, I’m sorry. C’mon," he said, swinging open the car door, still laughing. The driver was standing just outside the door, a small plastic bag in his hand.

"Ta, mate," Greg said with a wink as he snatched the bag and began up the stairs to his flat’s front door.

Mycroft was too mortified to speak as he followed the fox up the stairs. They were soon inside the flat. Even in the heat of the moment he couldn't help but deduce (divorced, not seeing anyone, police officer) as the stranger took his hand and led him down the short hall to his room. Mycroft found himself once again on his back, this time on a mid-sized bed (worked long hours, made some effort to be neat). 

Their masks were rubbing across each other with every turn of their heads, but Greg was disinclined to remove them. It felt a bit more fun this way. Kinkier. He was harder for it, anyway, and his fingers were trembling with arousal and adrenaline as they began working the button's of the peacock's button-up and he slowly rubbed his cock along the other's. As soon as he felt skin beneath his palms, however, he broke off to continue kissing down the smooth neck and onto a smoother neck.

"You are... deliciously soft," he murmured, pressing his nose to the man's belly. It wasn't the kind of soft related to overeating, but of an easy life, and somehow, it relaxed him, pushed the rush of his job to the back of his mind. "I like it."

Mycroft blushed all over again. He was self conscious about his body. But he liked the way the fox’s hands felt on his skin. He let his legs fall open to him, running a hand through his hair. "Take what you will," he said softly.

"Oh, I plan on it," Greg replied, digging into the bag he'd dropped at the peacock's side for a condom. He carefully ripped it open with help from his teeth as his other hand attempted to undo the laces of the billowy trousers. Finally, he placed the freed condom just against his tongue and pulled the trousers down, leaning down to work the condom over the stiff erection with his lips.

Groaning, Mycroft bucked up against that hot mouth. No one had ever done that trick with him before. Part of him wished they didn’t have the barrier between them, but he knew it was practical. He reached back to grab the headboard, leaving himself vulnerable to that delicious suction, moaning and letting himself go.

Greg made sure to keep his enthusiasm to a minimum; neither of them were young men and it was likely that if one of them came, it would be the only time that night. He simply kept it slow, enjoying the task of driving the man whose legs he lay between to sobs. When the testicles above his palms began to tighten, he pulled away, grinning at the choked whine as he felt in the bag for lube.

"Roll over, gorgeous," he murmured, swooping down to run his palms up the insides of thighs nearly the colour of his sheets. He managed to press several kisses against the spattering of freckles before the hips under him twisted to comply.

Nearly beside himself with pleasure, Mycroft settled onto the sheets. Strong hands parted him and another ragged moan fell from his lips as he was fingered open with surprising gentleness, despite the hunger. "Please," growled Mycroft, surprised to hear himself beg. He wanted nothing more right now then this man inside of him, strong working hands holding his hips.

"And here I thought you were a refined man of patience," Greg teased, adding a third finger rather than complying. He kept at, carefully avoiding the prostate as he stretched the man a bit more than necessary. His own erection was becoming painfully insistent, but he continued until the peacock's hips began rutting forward into the sheets and Greg realised he himself was attempting to thrust against the air. Achingly slow, he pulled his fingers free and grabbed another condom. It felt like it went on impossibly fast, like he was squirting more lube into his palm to slick himself in the blink of an eye. But when it came time to slide inside that wet hole, the world slowed and narrowed to that portal of pressure and heat.

"Oh fuck," he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut as he carefully pressed in.

"Indeed," muttered Mycroft, spreading his legs a little wider, panting heavily into the sheets. Nothing could possibly feel better than this and he tossed his head, white knuckling the headboard as the fox bottomed out. He rocked back against him, so very close, needing so very much.

Greg's fingers clenched at the round hips, the pressure bleaching his fingers and the skin below them white. There would be bruises come morning, but he was too entranced by the sight of his cock pulling free of that hole and sliding back in, fascinated by his girth disappearing and reappearing as he thrust. There were freckles across the man's shoulders and Greg leaned forward, pressing kisses to the pale skin. "Such a beautiful peacock," he groaned into the freckles.

He slid back, needing the poised orgasm set free, and he was struck by the auburn curls of the peacock man's hair where it emerged from beneath the spread of feathers from the mask. He reached forward to thread his fingers through those curls, tightening his grip and pulling back so it elongated the smooth back and forced the long spine to dip down. Greg leaned forward, nipping at the lobe of an ear and growling, "Such beautiful feathers you have."

Mycroft could only moan, his whole body humming as he rode the cusp of orgasm. He rutted desperately against the bed and as the teeth scraped his ear again, he came suddenly, untouched, gasping and sobbing underneath this amazing man’s touch. It had been a while, but he was certain he’d never come so hard in his life.

The fox gave a dark chuckle, smoothing a hand down his spine before he started thrusting harder, filling him, using him. Mycroft squeezed around him, trying to bring him to his own orgasm.

Greg's hips stuttered as the walls around him contracted and then he groaned as he began fucking the man in earnest. His thrusts became quick and rough as he chased his own release, and the walls around him continued to pulse rhythmically. In no time, he could feel his orgasm rising and he let it rush up his spine, his hips snapping forward so that tight heat around him could coax out the trails of pleasure. At last, he stilled, barely able to remain upright, and he turned and rolled onto his back, his cock pulling free of his partner with a wet sound. Wrinkling his nose, Greg pulled the condom off and knotted it before tossing it in the general direction of the wastebasket on the other side of his night table. The other man was still on his front and he nudged the pale man onto his side, carefully stripping off the other condom and doing away with it before resuming his sprawl.

Mycroft knew he should take off the mask. But that would ruin the magic of the night. Instead he trailed his fingers through the soft chest hair until he was certain the other man was sound asleep. He kissed the man’s arm gently and slipped out of bed, collecting his clothes as he texted his driver. He took one last look at the softly snoring form and slipped out, telling himself there was nothing to regret.

When Greg's alarm went off, he groaned and flung out an arm to turn it off, wary of waking the other man in his bed. But when he reached out, he found the other man was already gone. Automatically, his head snapped up as he felt around the sheets, but the warmth that should have seeped into the sheets was absent. He frowned as he moved to scrub his face, only to encounter the mask that he was still wearing. Slowly, carefully, he pulled the thin, lacquered wood from his face and placed it delicately on his night stand.

Unable to help himself, he made a quick search of the bedspread and the kitchen for a note, hoping a bit more than he should have that the peacock had left his number. When it was time to leave and he still hadn’t showered or dressed and had found nothing, he gave it up as nothing more than a wonderful night that would give him, if nothing else, good memories and wank material for the next several weeks (who was he kidding- it was going to be used for months). As he ran out his door, fifteen minutes late, he ultimately decided it was a good thing the other man hadn’t left his number. Greg couldn’t afford to start a relationship right now, much less keep one, especially when the likelihood of the peacock understanding the kind of schedule he had was slim-to-none.

**.oOo.**

Two months after the ball, Mycroft watched Gregory Lestrade on the CCTV. He wasn't sure how he felt about Sherlock's new hobby, but it had so far kept him clean. And this Lestrade was intriguing. He had the man's files open on his desk. Fairly new Detective Inspector, but competent, even more so with Sherlock's help. 

He pressed a button and straightened his suit coat. It was time to meet this man in person. 

Greg was used to not owning a brolly, since he ran in and out of buildings and cars too frequently for them to be of any use, but it didn’t change his annoyance with the days when he got soaked just running into the building.

"Sir, you have an appointment waiting for you in your office," Donovan told him as she passed him a towel.

He cursed under his breath and scrubbed frantically at his hair and face as he rushed through NSY towards his office. When he burst through the door two minutes later, he was surprised by the sight of a suited man half-sitting against the edge of Greg's desk, hands resting on top of a brolly handle.

"Hello, Greg Lestrade," he greeted, resisting the urge to lick his lips. First a gorgeous peacock lands in his path and now a gorgeous red-head. Someone was certainly trying to tell him something. "Who are you?"

"I am an acquaintance of Sherlock’s," said Mycroft, looking the man over. Wet still dripped from his disheveled silver hair. It only made him look dashing and the official had to remind himself he was here strictly on business. "I wanted to know what your intentions are, in regards to him."

"Uh..." Greg wasn't sure how to answer that. The man had showed up on a crime scene, high as hell and more brilliant than any of the DI's investigators. He'd tried getting rid of the man, but he just kept showing up until, grudgingly, Greg began to let him on-scene without question. "To be unlike, he isn't even supposed to be on our crime scenes. But he keeps showing up. And compared to that first time, he keeps showing up sober. If I can keep him off the drugs and get my cases solved quicker, I'm not seeing much harm in letting him carry on."

"I am aware that you are responsible for his sobriety, and for that I am grateful." Mycroft glanced at his notebook. "You’ve been a deputy inspector for about two months, yes?"

Greg frowned at the little black book cradled in a delicate-looking long-fingered hand. "About that, yeah. Why?"

"You had a decent record for cases before Sherlock showed up. Why take him under your wing?" Mycroft really was curious about it. There was no reason for the inspector to trust a junkie.

Donovan had been asking him the same thing, in a way, the entire time. "He's a bright lad who acts nothing like a junkie and everything like a child calling out for attention," he said with a shrug, finally moving out of the doorway and dropping into his chair. "I'm not giving him any confidential information. Not that it seems to matter if I do or not. He apparently has his own sources that get information before I do."

"His own sources, or his own intelligence?" Mycroft turned and faced him. The Inspector wasn’t stupid, he could tell that. And certainly had a kind streak that even years of police work hadn’t dulled.

"Probably both," Greg said, only shrugging one shoulder this time as he jabbed the power button on his monitor. "Now seriously mate, what's with all the questions and who are _you_ to Sherlock?" Now his eyes narrowed, his brain finally kicking in to the fact that some stranger was asking questions about someone he had more or less taken under his wing.

_Protective_. Not too surprising in someone of his line of work. "Simply someone concerned," said Mycroft with a smile, gathering his things. "I may be in touch."

"Yeah," the DI murmured, committing the man's face to memory. "Oh!" he exclaimed, as if he'd suddenly been struck by a good idea. " Why don't you leave you card and I'll let you know if anything changes." His lips tilted in an an insincere smile as he held out his hand. There was no way in hell he was going to contact this man until he'd spoken to Sherlock about him.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow, but he reached into his suit and pulled out a plain card that held only a phone number, passing it over. "Let them know who you are and they will relay the message to me. Good afternoon, Inspector."

The man turned and left before Greg had even looked at the card. When he did, and he took in the complete lack of name or even anything that wasn't that phone number, he growled and pursed his lips before he finally jammed the small rectangle in his pocket.

**.oOo.**

After that strange meeting, Sherlock kept showing up at Greg's crime scenes, sober, insulting, strange, and brilliant. When it was solved and the crime scene techs were left trailing in his wake to put together the pieces themselves, Sherlock's 'acquaintance' would appear, inquiring after the young man. The more and more it happened, the less and less they seemed to talk about Sherlock, and more about each other. And the more Greg kept seeing the man, the more he kept seeing similarities to Sherlock, to the point that he began to wonder if the two were related. Still, the man was interesting, attractive, and seemed to understand the sporadicness of Greg's schedule, and so Greg just blurted it out.

"Would you like to have dinner with me?" he asked, his grip on his notebook perhaps tighter than it should have been.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. The truth was he'd been making excuses to see Gregory. He closed his notebook. "I know a excellent restaurant that will remain open late for me."

"Fantastic," he replied with a grin. "Lead the way."

The restaurant the other man led him to was a short walk from the crime scene, a little hole-in-the-wall door that opened to a decadent, softly lit interior.

"I hate to put a damper on proceedings," Greg started, pausing just inside the door, "but I don't have the kind of paychecks that can afford a place like this."

"My treat," said Mycroft. They were led to a table and a bottle of red wine soon appeared. He watched Greg, wondering if he'd read the label on the expensive bottle. 

Instead, Greg picked up the gilt-cornered menu from atop his plate and began to scan the contents, glad that of any of the foreign languages it could have been in, it was in the one he could read. The only problem he had was picking the familiar, smooth syllables of French from the incessantly loopy script. He frowned at the wording, trying to figure out what the annoying font said when the waitress approached the table, swift and silent.

"Good evening, monsieurs," the woman greeted with a gentle smile and smooth French. "Are you ready to order?"

Greg didn't notice his dinner partner opening his mouth until after the DI had already begun to order: "Yes, I'll have the Blanquette de Veau, thank you." There was a clicking sound from the auburn-haired man across the table as his mouth snapped shut and Greg shot him a questioning look.

Mycroft was surprised. Gregory hadn't live in France since he was a child, after all. He recovered and ordered, watching the Inspector as he sipped his wine. 

"You know," Greg said after a moment of silence and slow wine drinking. "You still haven't given me your name."

Leaning back, the official regarded him. "Mycroft," he said at last. He wondered if Sherlock had let on their relation. 

"Mycroft?" Greg laughed. "Strange name..." His mind began to whir, considering the strangeness of 'Mycroft' and 'Sherlock'. Of the similarities he'd noticed at times between the two men's speech patterns and even facial features. _"Simply someone concerned."_ "Hang on. Are you related to Sherlock?!"

"I was wondering when you would figure that out. I am his older brother." Mycroft wondered if Gregory would be upset with him. 

"You..." Greg trailed off as his mind fit the last few months of acquaintances between the two men into place with the new knowledge. His lips twitched and Mycroft's brow furrowed in confusion. A moment later, soft laughter spilled from between his lips as the waitress set their plates before them before disappearing again. "Drama queens, the both of you," he chuckled as he tucked into his veal. "I always wondered where he learned it from."

"There was parental influence as well." Mycroft relaxed a notch. "I must confess, Inspector, I was rather hoping you would like to take me to dinner." Mycroft watched him, noticing the easy grace under his gruff workman exterior. It made him wonder what other surprises he might find. And he was not a man often surprised. 

"Oh, I've been wanting to take you to dinner," Greg confessed in turn. "I just wanted to be sure that you'd accept." They fell silent as they finished their meals, and Greg waited until after their dishes were cleared before he spoke again. "I'll admit something else I've been wanting..." Mycroft arched an eyebrow and took a sip of his dwindling wine as he waited for Greg to continue. "I've been wanting to invite you back to my flat for... coffee."

"Merely coffee?" asked Mycroft, reaching across the table to tangle his fingers in Greg's. He thought of that night a scant few months ago. There had been no one since, but being around Gregory Lestrade lit a warmth in his belly. He thought he might like enjoy watching the fire grow between them. 

"Mmm. There may be... dessert involved," Greg teased, stroking the side of Mycroft's hand with his thumb. "After a fashion. Are you interested?"

"Quite." Mycroft licked his lips. They went out to Greg's car. 

There was something vaguely familiar about the place as they arrived. Mycroft chalked it up to months of surveillance. He held Greg's hand and watched him, wondering who would make the first move. "I don't usually go home with someone on a first date."

"Come off it," Greg scoffed as he shut and locked the front door behind them. "All those meetings at crime scenes? We've been dating for months." He didn't give the man a chance to answer before shoving him against the door and snogging him senseless.

Mycroft was surprised. He tensed a moment, then relaxed, kissing him back, running his hands up Greg's sides. This was as good as the last time he got snogged and he welcomed it just as much, his arousal rising between them.

There was a tense moment as Mycroft resisted before melting into his affections, and Greg growled, sliding a thigh between the other man's. As much as he was enjoying it, he still had lube and condoms in his side table from the last visitor who had shared his bed, and he pulled back enough to begin tugging the man towards his bedroom. Unwilling to let their mouths part, they tripped and stumbled until Greg tripped backwards onto his bed and Mycroft landed atop him.

Mycroft ran his fingers through short silver strands, tonguing him deeply as he ground down against him. Gregory felt perfect underneath him and he barely wanted to break for air. 

"Condoms, and lube," Greg gasped, flinging an arm towards his nightstand, still decorated with the fox mask from the masquerade ball months ago. He still thought about that night from time to time, but the peacock mask had been replaced by Mycroft's face as they got to know each other better and better.

Mycroft raised his head and followed his hand, only to freeze. Slowly, carefully, he slid off Greg and picked up the mask. He blinked a few times and looked around. "The Mayor's Ball."

"You were there?" Greg asked, frowning in perplexity and staring at the mask in Mycroft's hands.

Mycroft nodded and carefully held the mask in his hands like it was a precious thing. "Tell me about your experience?"

Greg shrugged. "Met a bloke dressed as a peacock. Had really good conversation, as good of conversation as I have with you, actually," he said, nodding at the man. "And then I invited him back... to... my... place...?" He trailed off as his eyes landed on Mycroft's hair, auburn strands curling out of the hold hair products had placed them in.

_"Such beautiful feathers you have."_

"'Such beautiful feathers you have'," he said aloud, and Mycroft's spine went stiff.

Mycroft had thought often about the man he'd met and snuck away from. Regret sometimes tinged his thoughts, but that had started to fade as he got to know Gregory. He reached down and cupped the man's face, looking into deep brown eyes. "I must admit: I feel rather like Cinderella."

"Shouldn't I be saying that? Being that it's my mask and all?" Greg asked with a chuckle, resting his hands on his partner's hips. "I know what you mean though. I always kind of figured my peacock was too good for a lower class bloke like me. Now I know I was right."

"I am in no way 'too good for you'. Nor am I 'slumming'." He carefully set the mask aside and pulled out the condom and lube. "To be perfectly honest, I've often wondered if I did the right thing by leaving as I did." He didn't get close to people. Ever. But he found himself wanting to with Greg. Really he already had. 

"Well, no matter who's the princess or the prince, I'm happy you found your way back to me." The fire of their passions had cooled slightly in the revelations, and when their mouths met again, it was slow, both knowing that neither was going to turn away or suddenly disappear this time. This affair had started with the false courage of a hidden identity, had built along the lines of pages and bindings, in the dried remains of brush strokes on canvas, to the light notes of centuries old music; it was a solid thing between two people who had danced the dance before, and it had the potential of lasting for as long as what had inspired it. Slowly, Greg pulled them backwards towards the bed, his fall onto his back this time around much more controlled.

Mycroft held him close, moving against him, grateful for this second chance to do the right thing. And this time, neither of them would have to hide behind masks. 

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry it was cut short without reunion sex, but I (Kat) needed to end it so it wouldn’t impede NaNo-ing. My apologies. orz
> 
> Thank you for reading, please don't forget to Comment, and always feel free to come visit [Mer](http://merindab.tumblr.com/) and [Kat](http://themadkatter13-fanfiction.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.


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